Miles Dempsey
Playing in the NHL was always the goal.
I had a hockey stick in my hand the day I learned how to walk. While both of my parents sort of forced hockey into my life, I didn't hate it. I was grateful they did because it became my greatest love. My greatest strength. It was the thing I was best at. School and hockey were my main focus growing up.
Pops said good grades would help me get into a school that had a great hockey team. I never imagined leaving Canada after high school but the States had good schools. Those good schools offered me athletic scholarships. Graduating with a 4.0 GPA also helped my case. I was the valedictorian at Madden High school. But nobody cared about that when I got to the league.
They only cared that I was a good player. I was a great hockey player. The best in my draft class, I'd say. I won Rookie of the Year and have won many more trophies since then. Just because my life is great now, doesn't mean I don't miss what it used to be.
Going out without anyone staring at you and asking you to take pictures or sign autographs. Posting whatever stupid shit I wanted to on social media without getting judged. Sleeping with a girl and not being scared that she would get pregnant shortly after and blame it on me even though it wasn't mine - it's happened before.
Life was much more fun when I could do all of those things. But Miles Dempsey has to keep a clean, good image. I have a total of ten posts on my social media. I spend as much time on Instagram and Twitter as I spend taking a shot. I'd take a night in rather than a night out. And I'd never pick anything over hockey. Anything.
That was my life now.
I used to be so different. Everyone who's known me for a long time gives me shit for it. I used to care more about how much I'm changing, but now? I could care less. I'm focused on something that keeps me living. Without hockey, I wouldn't have the life I have. I wouldn't be the person that I am. I wouldn't have all these amazing things and meet the great people I have.
I might wake up every now and then and wish that hockey didn't completely consume me but it only lasts a couple of seconds. I get over it and move on because a lot of people would kill to have the life I have.
After all, you can't complain about your life when doing what you love has made you a millionaire at 24 years old, right?
Still, more than a couple of times a day, I think about what it would be like if I didn't have any of this. The fame, money, and ability to play hockey at the highest level. If I was just a normal guy still living in Vancouver instead of Los Angeles, one of the most lively cities in the States. That thought happens to leave my head quickly when I realize it means I wouldn't have hockey.
I need hockey to live. I don't know myself without it.
So as much as the thought of being a regular guy sometimes makes me fucking hate my life - because I'm not a regular guy - I don't like thinking about it for too long. I'll never love anything as much as I love hockey and I know that for a fact.
These past couple of years haven't been our best, but some burning sensation in the pit of my stomach tells me if I lead my team well enough this season, we'll get there. We'll be successful. We already have the talent it takes. The rest is up to how well we use it and how much will we have in order to get to our end goal.
Bringing home the Stanley Cup.
Every hockey player's ultimate dream.
I'm hungry. The team's hungry. We've been starved and deprived of this for years. There is no chance in hell we don't take home the gold this year. I'll be damned if we don't. Losing isn't in my bones. It never has been.
"And then by the time we got to the bottom stair, she was already talking about how much she hated him! She wasted three minutes of my time talking to me about someone she hates. Ugh, I hate her."
JT rests his head on his hand as he blinks slowly, looking at Allie. He's paying more attention to her than I am to be fair. I'm lost somewhere inside my head and when I start hearing her talk for longer than a couple of minutes, I tune out her voice. When my roommate doesn't say anything to whatever she's rambling about, she turns to me. I stare at her as blankly as JT did.
She rolls her eyes hard and removes her feet from my lap, dropping them onto the ground. "I'm leaving," she says. I don't stop her as she picks up her bag and starts walking towards the front door which is close since we were all in the living room. JT stares at her until she leaves. He lets out a breath through his mouth once the door closes behind her. "Miles, she's. . ." He trails off, not finishing his sentence.
"She's not my girlfriend." He already knows this, but I have to clarify that I could never be with someone like her. Allie is great, but she's not the typical woman I go for - personality wise. I'd have to take three power naps and chug five-hour energies to deal with her for a full day. I can barely handle her for a couple of hours. "She's over all the time," he says. I let out a long breath.
"She comes over a minimum twice a week," I defend. "She's here more than Tate and he's our friend," JT adds. I glower at him and his eyes widen. "It's okay if she is." His voice comes out lower than before. "She's not. You think I would date her?" I say a little too harshly. "Honestly, I think you're asexual sometimes," he admits, not fazed by my tone. I roll my eyes. "Kid, don't use a word you don't know how to use. I am not asexual," I state. "No judgment to those who are. But I need sex more than I need my right hand."
JT laughs. "Truuuuee." A sudden, heavy knock at my door catches both of our attention. We both swing our heads at the sound before looking back at each other curiously. "Probably Allie," JT whispers. She wouldn't knock like that. I stand up from the couch and walk over to the door. I live in a gated neighborhood with high security, it's probably one of my shithead neighbors. I run a hand through my thick hair before opening up the door.
A petite brunette smiles sweetly at me before entering my house without permission. What the fuck? "JASON! Oh, there you are." I turn quickly and close the door. She knows my roommate but how the hell did she get in the neighborhood?
JT's eyes widen at the sight of this girl.
Fuck.
She's a fan of his. I just let in a fan. "Hey yo-"
"Where is your part in the project ?! I've been texting and calling you all day," the little brunette yells, her nose scrunching in anger. Okay, so she's not a fan? I stand behind her - not too close - with my arms crossed over my chest, watching this interaction. Even though he's 6'2 and she's barely 5 feet, he looks terrified. I stifle a laugh at the way his mouth opens to speak but he struggles to form words.
His face goes from scared and confused to curious in point two seconds. "Wait, how do you know where I live?" he questions. I'd love to know the answer to this too. "Oh, social media. I saw the interview you and Miles did about being roommates," she replies, her voice going angry to calm too quickly. "Oh," JT says softly. "Oh?" He sounds more suspicious with that 'oh'. How does she know where I live?
"The memo?!?" she shouts again. His expression changes once again. "I'm almost done with it, I swear! I've just been busy with practice and my games, but I'll send it to you tonight," JT scrambles. "It's due Monday morning, so you better have it to me by tonight," she replies through clenched teeth. "Promise, Em. You'll get it by then." JT puts a hand over his heart, promising.
"It's Ember," she corrects. A shade of pink creeps onto his cheeks. "Right, Ember. It's JT. You called me Jason," he says, scratching the back of his neck. "Hmm. I don't like acronyms." Ember shrugs her small shoulders and turns around, heading for the door again. She smiles at me shortly and waves. "By tonight, Jason. No more excuses." She doesn't even bother turning back around, opening the door, and letting herself out. I follow her until she's gone, facing JT when she is.
"I have no idea, how, or why," he says quickly, his cheeks still a light shade of pink. I'm too tired to even question anything. It's only inching seven p.m. but I have an early morning tomorrow. "Go get your homework done before you fail out of class your freshman year. Or worse, get killed by someone half your size," I tease. A small smile tugs on his lips and he nods. "Don't want to get her anymore angry, I'll see you tomorrow," he says. I give him a thumbs up and he disappears upstairs.
I make sure the door is completely locked and the alarm system I have is set before I go upstairs as well. After getting ready for bed, I pull my phone off its charger. I set two alarms, one extra in case I don't wake up. Irvine is quite the drive from Los Angeles and I want to make sure I get there before my little competitor.
I didn't expect to run into someone at my aunt's ice rink on a day it's normally closed. I sure as hell didn't expect to see her a couple of days ago again either. I won't lie and say I didn't enjoy fucking with her. I could tell from the first day we met how much I bothered her and I didn't fail to see it on Wednesday too. I pushed her buttons and now we're having some ridiculous competition tomorrow. I know she can't play hockey more than I can do a goddamn twirl for longer than three seconds.
But the thought of seeing her again ignites something unfamiliar in my bones. I don't know if it's just that simple fact that I liked messing with her or if it's because of something else. Yeah, I think she's gorgeous but I already have a gorgeous girl in Allie, so it's not that either. I can't pinpoint a reason for anything these days and if I try to, my brain feels smaller at the end of it. I'm trying to get better at not overthinking things.
I let out a deep sigh as I put my phone on the pillow next to me and get comfortable. I've been tired for some time now and it isn't long before sleep overtakes me.
When I woke up this morning, I felt like absolute shit. I was able to get in eight hours which is more than usual so I didn't know why. I took two energy drinks from the fridge and drank one the whole way to Irvine. When I arrived at Blazing Ice, it was still empty. At 6:15, the sky was still dark and full of stars. I took this time alone to get in my own warm-up before Nola arrived. She walked in at around 6:30, her lips pulled in a thin line when she noticed my presence.
I know she was hoping to get here earlier just like I wanted to. We planned to meet here at 7, but I came almost a whole hour earlier.
"Morning, sunshine," I quip. She's the opposite of 'sunshine' right now. She drops her duffel bag on the ground where the few medal benches are, ignoring me. I chuckle lowly.
A couple of minutes later, she joins me on the ice. A long sleeve white top covers her upper half and black tights her bottom half. I could see the muscle in her legs and arms through the skin-tight clothing. She's toned, I'll give her that. "Hello?" My eyes flit up to hers in an instant. I hum for a response. She rolls her eyes and skates past me, towards the end of the ice. "Are you too tired to compete with me, Miles?" My name rolls off her tongue sweetly.
I shake my head internally. What the fuck am I even thinking?
I scoff. "No. I just got distracted by your horrendous socks," I half lie. The socks are ugly but I was more distracted by her body. "They're leg warmers, asshat," she retorts, glaring at me as I make my way over to her. I grin as I stop right beside her. "What do you want me to do first?" I ask, ignoring her very derogatory word toward me.
"Camel spin," she says quickly. I furrow my brows in confusion and she reads it. She steps further out on the ice, only skating before she starts spinning in a circle, her left leg out behind her. I scratch the back of my neck, watching her do it so effortlessly. She stops after a couple of seconds. "Pretty easy, no?"
I let out a fake chuckle. "I don't think I'm that flexible," I say. She wears a surprised expression, perching her hands on her hips. "Giving up already? I thought you said figure skating was a walk in the park compared to hockey?" Her blonde brow quirks up. I didn't say that. Not exactly that. "No." I skate past her getting closer to the middle of the ice where I have more room.
She stands in the same spot, toned arms crossed over her small chest. Her eyebrow arches as she waits for me to do the stupid spin. I can't believe I even agreed to this shit.
I start to spin slowly, feeling stupid as fuck. God, I hate this. I take my time, not used to this, before lifting back my more flexible left leg. I can't go as high as she did but I somewhat am able to do it, surprising myself. After about fifteen seconds, I lower my leg and come to a full stop.
I rest my hands on my hips, watching her with a smirk. A frown is planted on her face. "Could've done that in my sleep," I joke. I surprised more than her just now. She rolls her blue eyes. "You barely lifted your leg," she retorts. "Hey, now. I still did it. What's next?"
She makes a face and brushes past me again. For the next thirty minutes, she shows me something and I do it. I may never be a professional figure skater but the look on her face after I do everything right has to be worth coming here today. I don't think she thought this through. Not fully at least.
We both step off the ice and catch our breaths. I drink a whole water bottle in five gulps, throwing it into the nearby recycling bin. The scowl on her face hasn't disappeared since she stepped foot into the rink. "Wanna save your ego now?" I question. She glances up at me and glares. "No. I'm going to kick your ass." With that, she stands up and returns to the ice.
I can't help the small curve of my lips. I grab my stick and then another from one of the storage closets. "Here." I hand her the stick and she snatches it fiercely from me. Throwing the black puck on the ice between us, I sling it towards her. "Pucks yours, ice princess. Score a goal on me," I taunt. She nods, not looking up at me but at the puck sitting next to her stick.
I make sure to be conscious of every little move she makes. I just performed like a goddamn figure skating superstar. There's no way I'm going to let her beat me at hockey. Though I'm sure she can't even if she tired. I just happen to be good at everything I do.
She smacks the puck past me and starts zooming towards it. I barely flinch and start following the puck too. I'm able to catch up to it faster, stealing it from her and skating towards my goal with it. I hear her behind me so I shoot the puck feet away from the net. It goes straight in. Nola groans behind me as I slow to a stop, resting my arm atop the goalpost.
"1 to 0," I say smoothly. She comes toward the goal and moves the puck away from the inside of the net. "Asshat," she whispers under her breath and returns to our starting position with the puck. I chuckle lowly, getting back into position in front of her. She huffs out a breath, her cheeks a light shade of pink. "Ready?" I ask.
She nods and I return it, waiting for her to make a move again. It's a while before she hits the puck between my legs, catching me off guard. She starts for the thing. "Fuck," I curse. I start racing after her and she turns seeing me close. She shoots the puck from afar. It barely misses the net but she doesn't let this stop her from going after it. I follow her, trying to steal the puck. She groans as our sticks clash for the small black thing.
I'm able to get it and I hit it in the direction of my goal, rushing after it. When I catch up, I shoot it straight into the net again. "That's not fair!" I hear her shout behind me. I turn on my skates and furrow my brows. She's angry. Her cheeks are flushed, her brows furrowed and small lines crease her forehead. "What's not fair?" I ask.
"You stole the puck from me!" she yells. I almost laugh, biting my lip to hold it back. "Yeah, that's kind of the point of the game. Aren't you a crazy Ducks fan?" She said she was when I first met her but you'd think by that statement that she's never watched a second of hockey in her life. "Let's go again." She ignores me and snatches the puck again.
I stand in front of her once again, careful so that she won't trick me again. She takes longer to make a move this time but she does the same thing, smacking the puck right past me and towards the goal. I almost let her make a goal but I realize, that's not me. I catch up to her and take the puck from her, laughing. I smack it straight to my net, hitting the back of it for the third time.
It feels good to be right.
She angrily rips off the high ponytail that sits on her head, running her fingers through the blonde strands. "You done, Scott? Calling your boyfriend to pick you up?" I tease. She drops her hands from her hair and glares up at me. "Excuse me?" Her voice is tight. "The blonde who picked you up from here last time," I clarify. I remember some kid coming to collect her. I can't remember his name for the life of me.
Nola makes a disgusted face. "Gross, he's my brother, not my boyfriend!" Something in me relaxes at her words. He did look a bit young now that I think about it. I don't even know how old she is but I'm assuming 21 or older since I did run into her at a bar. "And yes, I'm done. I hate hockey and I do not want to waste my time spending another second trying to play it," she adds.
I smile, realizing I won. I proved my point. I'm just shocked she actually gave up.
She sighs, putting her hair into a low pony this time. She wipes some small sweat build-up from her forehead. When she looks up, she notices me looking at her. "What?" she says harshly. "You did good. You're fast, honestly," I admit. She scoffs, shaking her head. "Don't kiss my ass. If I was fast, I would have caught up with you," she mumbles.
"I'm not kissing your ass. Obviously, you're not faster than me but you're fast nevertheless. Not everyone can be Miles Dempsey fast, kid." I smirk. She rolls her eyes for the hundredth time. "I knew it wasn't a compliment," she mutters loud enough for me to hear. "It was a compliment. I don't give those out much," I tell her honestly.
It's hard to get a compliment on anything from me these days. I don't even give my teammates praise when they're doing good.
"Yeah, not surprised." She turns and starts skating towards the door, off the ice. I furrow my brows. "What's that supposed to mean?" I follow her, staying on the ice as she starts pulling the skates off her small feet. She doesn't look up at me and says, "You're crazy narcissistic, dude. I wouldn't expect someone who loves themself so much to give out compliments to anyone but themselves."
Her words cut like knives in my chest, making my jaw tighten. It's not the first time someone has said that to me. Hearing it never gets any easier and always makes me angrier. "You don't even know me," I say, trying to stay stoic. It's hard for me not to show emotion on my face. As she finishes tying her running shoes, she looks up at me.
"No, I don't. But I've met guys like you. A hundred of them," she says. "Again, you don't know me. Therefore you've never met anyone like me, so fuck off!" I snap. Immediately, I regret my words. Nola picks up her bag from the floor, not even flinching at my harsh tone. "Gladly!" she sneers. In the next moment, she starts walking out of Blazing Ice, quick on her feet.
My mouth opens to apologize, but it's like someone's holding my vocal cords together, not allowing me to. I give up once I hear the heavy door close as she leaves the rink. I sigh, my hands on my waist holding my body weight up.
If even an ounce of what she said was wrong, I wouldn't have got so defensive over it. But I did. Because deep down in my fucking core, I know who I am. How I am. I can try and lie to myself and call myself a humble guy and tell myself I don't want the life I have.
I also know that that can be a lie.
I love hockey.
I love the attention I get from being a great hockey player.
I love my way too expensive home and cars.
I love it. All of it.
Even though I'm on a team that hasn't had much success over the past couple of years, I still believe that I'm the best player who's ever stepped on NHL ice.
People have noticed things over the years that have led them to call me what she just did. Narcissistic. That ugly word rings in my head, making my brain feel like it's about to explode. I don't want to be like that. I wasn't raised that way.
My parents raised me with so much love, support, and humility. No matter how much success I had in my life, I knew where I came from. I didn't have a perfect life growing up. My parents both worked for what they had and what they gave me. I was appreciative of that, I was. I never took them for granted. They saved my fucking life after all. Who knows where I would have been if they never adopted me?
"You have to stay true to yourself, Miles. No matter what."
My mom always said that to me growing up. She noticed the change in me once I started being successful. Everyone noticed.
"You only care about yourself."
My best friend from high school told me that and never spoke to me again. I don't blame him. He wasn't wrong. I've tried for years to prove him wrong but even now I don't think I've done it. I hate her for calling me that. For reminding me that I'm a terrible fucking person.
Sadly, she couldn't be any more right.
And my chest burns to admit it.